Insomniac !

Insomniac -- not just an echobelly song. I was up half the night, thinking those late night thoughts, and recalling things I haven't thought of in years, and brought myself to laughter at 4 am remembering the short film I was once going to make. It was meant to run for about 20 seconds and was called Relationships, Claymationships. Basically it was a claymation film of couples that merge, swirl, and melt down into clay and reform into boats and sail away. 20 seconds of poorly crafted claymation complete with inherent ships-passing-in-the-night cliches. It never happened. It was one of those concepts where the idea was more important than the reality.

(Speaking of those excellent-ideas-never-realized -- Shiloh, I'm still waiting for the first issue of Serepolyzine to arrive in my mailbox... another memory that recurred last night and had me smiling at 4 am.)

So I sat up reading Jen Trynin's memoir "Everything I'm Cracked Up To Be" instead. It's sooo good for folks who recall the mid-90s music scene - those strange years between grunge and trip hop. You might remember her song Better Than Nothing.

Now that my camera is recharged, here's some hot cacti pics for your enjoyment.


The first pic is one of the costly cacti filled with illicit substance. The second pic are some other faves, which also support Mark's theory that I like these plants for their suggestive shapes... and perhaps I do.

spineless

It is indeed a luxuriant lifestyle when my biggest purchase in yonks occurred today -- and consisted only of hundreds of dollars of cacti. A slow shopper, I mulled over the nursery choices for my new backyard designs and made my choices based upon symbolism -- trichocereus scopulicolis -- a s p i n e l e s s cactus with large night-blooming flowers, beautiful and defenseless.

"They put a needle once in my spine, it took them so long to find it" -- Stina Nordenstam, Get On With Your Life

Transacting my purchase, a rather curious employee regaled me with stories of his rowdy days and his mates who also adored this cactus, but for its chemical components. Sure enough, some dodgy internet resources confirm some psychotropic effect from the alkalides found in this cactus.

"Bloody your hands on a cactus tree, wipe it on your dress and send it to me" -- Pixies, Cactus

While my experimental days have long expired, it is fascinating to know it's there... like a long-stale joint hidden once and nearly forgotten. And to think that today's purchase could in some way be viewed as a drug deal.

on books on tape on cd

So my new career is closing in soon -- being in charge, managing. imagining. there's of course the desire to storm in on the first official day with the proclamation (a la Dallas or Dynasty) -- "You all work for ME now!" and be really * in control * ...but that's not me.

The new direction hasn't reduced my commute (unfortunately) but it did give me a new direction to drive. Having previously cured my road rage with "learn a language while you drive" CDs (German is the best).... my newest habit is "books on tape" that are technically on CD. Though I find I have to listen a few times to catch the nuances.

This week is Heathcote Williams' "Whale Nation" as read by the author, complete with English accent and slight lisp -- it's a wonderfully entertaining and informative epic poem about Whales (and conversely, about man). You might remember Heathcote Williams as the writer of Marianne Faithfull's extremely explicit hit song "Why D'ya Do It?" In "Whale Nation" Williams presents an amazing mix of poetry, mythology, fun facts, and lists. The best bits are his dolphin impersonations, his extremely lengthy (thus, mesmerising) lists of products made from whales, and the best line of the entire poem - the one that stays with me all day:

"Imagine blowing soap bubbles and food drops out of the sky!"

maybe / world

you are very lucky / as you travel think of us occasionally / cause you're here some / then you're not some -- "golden cities"

guiltiest of pleasures... i am wallowing with lisa germano tonight. maybe not wallowing, maybe introspectiv-ing, in the most honest and almost cruel way. for the uninitiated, lisa is a very specific taste - and much of her music sounds the same, variations on a theme - emphasizing the cruciality of each songs lyrics.

if you ever want to / change before you die / change the way you're losing / change the way you hide / carry down the reasons / carry down the why / it's such a heavy load / for such a lying mind / you know just what you're doing / you've known it all along / you drag your living feelings / where they don't belong -- "moon in hell"

vague enough so each song relates to you specifically... perhaps just the most self-destructive and self-critical parts of you. those parts ultimately know that "happiness is like tv -- on or off, it's up to me." and so much of it truly is a conscious decision.

it's the memory / of the onset / of a lifetime full of wonder / and the constant falling under ... what did you do to be like this / and what do you do / when you feel it and you don't go / pretend that you don't know -- "the day"

human..... land... mark.. s.

Like most who have ever called Minneapolis home, I too was fixated on the reporting of the bridge collapse -- thinking of people I knew then, and thinking of who still lives there. Here I was treated to the Australian take on the news of an event occurring in a place many non-Americans have never heard of (Prince and Mary Tyler Moore remain the likeliest human landmarks). Headlines here sometimes referred to it as the "Mississippi disaster" because international audiences know the river, but not the city -- and good on us, too -- being more familiar with a major waterway than a mid-sized metropolis. Fair enough.

Eschewing the obvious metaphor for a bridge-collapse as a relationship divider, I have heard from more lost-long city-mates in the past week than in the past 5 years. There's nothing like a disaster to bring out the old housemates, old friends, and old lovers... These humans remain landmarks, too. Personal reference points despite their changing landscapes.

The stylist who cut my hair today recognized my tell-tale accent and asked if I'd been to Minneapolis. She then drew a connection to last month's New York City steam explosion and concluded that the USA is falling apart.